


Sky and Sea

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [65]
Category: NCIS, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony DiNozzo befriends Evan Lorne, and their friendship evolves over a series of e-cards, which is fine and dandy...until Evan shows up on NCIS's doorstep to be their new <i>liaison officer</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis/NCIS, Evan Lorne +/ Tony DiNozzo, they meet while Tony is working a case."
> 
> Tony is doing a bit of a Rear Window thing and runs into Evan Lorne.
> 
> Post SWAK for NCIS, pre-SGA.

Tony was totally on the case. This wasn’t a _Rear Window_ thing at all. Something hinky was definitely going on at the park across the street from his house. If he spent an awful lot of his time sitting at his window, staring across the street, well, he was an investigator. He was investigating. Sure, he’d almost been killed by a genetically modified strain of the pneumonic plague. He still needed to keep his wits about him.  
  
People watching was fun times, especially because there were hot women who went running at the park on a regular basis. Tony was just window-shopping, though, because a good number of those women went running with running strollers, or did their runs, went home, and then reappeared with a gaggle of kids to play on the playground in the middle of the park.  
  
Something about the entire domestic scene didn’t feel right, though. Something weird was going on. Tony was sure of it.  
  
And then he realized what it was. For days now, he was seeing a man going running. Too old to be in college, driving a nice enough car that he ought to be gainfully employed. And yet - running. In the middle of the day. It was definitely hinky. The guy was up to something. He was a good runner, though - admirable pace, at least five miles, good form. Always stretched before and after. Didn’t talk to any of the women, though, not even the single ones.  
  
Tony had been watching the unfamiliar man for four days now - he didn’t know his neighbors by name, but he knew their faces and cars, and the man was new - and still hadn’t figured out what angle the guy was working, what he was casing, when a group of teenagers tried to mug the guy. In broad daylight.  
  
Tony took off across the street without even thinking, barefoot in sweats and an NCIS t-shirt. Onlookers had backed away, people were screaming, some people had pulled out their cell phones.  
  
“Freeze! Federal agent!” Tony yelled, which was stupid, because he had no badge and no gun.  
  
One of the boys took off. The other two were dealt with summarily, both pinned to the ground and restrained.  
  
The guy they’d attacked was breathing hard, had a cut above one eye, but otherwise looked unharmed.  
  
“Are you all right?” Tony asked.  
  
The guy - he had bright blue eyes, dark hair, broad shoulders - nodded. “Yeah. They caught me by surprise is all.”  
  
“The police will be here any moment,” a pretty blonde woman said.  
  
“Dude, you’re hurting me,” one of the teenage boys - red hair, busted lip - whined.  
  
“You tried to hurt me first,” the guy said easily. He glanced at Tony. “Federal agent?”  
  
“Yes. I’m just - on sick leave,” Tony said, smoothing a hand over his hair defensively, was aware that he was several days unshaven. “I had the plague.”  
  
“Bubonic or pneumonic?” the guy asked dryly.  
  
“Pneumonic,” Tony said, and the guy raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Terror attack on the office,” Tony said. “Tony DiNozzo, NCIS.”  
  
“Evan Lorne, Air Force.”  
  
“You on leave?”  
  
“Yeah. Getting ready to ship out to a new posting long-term, so I’m house-sitting for a friend till I ship out.” Evan paused, adjusted his grip on one of the boys who was trying to squirm free.  
  
“That explains it.”  
  
“Explains what?”  
  
“Why you drive a nice car but keep hours like you’re unemployed.”  
  
Evan narrowed his eyes. “Have you been doing surveillance on me?”  
  
“I might be going a little stir-crazy trapped in my house.” Tony sank down to the grass, elbows on his knees, trying to draw in a deep breath.  
  
“That’s a little bit _Rear Window_ , don’t you think?”  
  
Tony grinned. “Hey! You know movies!”  
  
“I do know movies,” Evan said.

The police arrived and arrested the two boys. They interviewed the witnesses, mostly wide-eyed housewives looking to be part of the excitement.  
  
They interviewed Tony, looked wary when he explained that he was a federal agent, and then they grilled Evan. Tony might have gotten up and hobbled back to his house to preserve his dignity, but he really couldn’t breathe.  
  
“No, there were only three assailants,” Evan said.  
  
“Can you describe the third?” the cop asked.  
  
“I can do you one better, if you - Whoa, hey.” Evan put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You don’t look so good. Let’s get you home. Where do you live?”  
  
Tony, trying to suck in a good breath, told him. And then somehow Evan and two cops were escorting him home, and Evan was fetching him a glass of water and telling him to lie down on the couch, tucking a blanket around him.  
  
Tony drank the water gratefully.  
  
“Do you have someone who can stay with you?” Evan asked.  
  
Tony shook his head.  
  
“I’ll stay,” Evan said, fretting.  
  
“We still have some questions for you,” the cop said.  
  
“You can talk here,” Tony said. “I want to see how you local boys do your thing.”  
  
The cop - young, uniformed, in his late twenties - eyed Tony askance, then resumed questioning Evan, who described in detail how he’d fended off all three attackers, one fled, and he subdued the other two.  
  
“Can you describe the third attacker?” the cop asked.  
  
“If you give me a piece of paper, I can sketch him,” Evan said. “Tony, do you have any -?”  
  
“Sketchbook.” Tony flung a hand in the vague direction of his backpack.  
  
“Which pocket is it in?” Evan asked.  
  
Tony couldn’t quite remember but told Evan it was cool, he could just look, and then Evan was directing the cop to bring Tony more water and also a box of tissue, and also to turn on the humidifier so he could breathe better. Evan wasn’t bossy at all, but the cop obeyed without question, while Tony closed his eyes and listened to the soft scratch of pencil on paper.  
  
“That’s as best as I remember,” Evan said, and tore a piece of paper out of the sketchbook, handed it over.  
  
The cop whistled. “That’s - really good.”  
  
“My mom’s an art teacher,” Evan explained.  
  
“Well, let me make sure we have your contact information, and we’ll call if we have more questions,” the cop said. “Uh, feel better, Agent DiNozzo.”  
  
“Thanks,” Tony said, smiling weakly.  
  
Evan showed the cop out, then came and crouched down beside Tony on the couch.  
  
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to call someone?”  
  
“Nope. No one to call.”  
  
“Do...do you want me to stay?”  
  
“You better go and finish your run, Flyboy.”  
  
Evan hummed thoughtfully. “Tell you what, I’ll leave you my number in case you feel like you need a babysitter. I’m staying at Cam Mitchell’s house, a couple of doors down, if you need anything. Feel better, Agent.”  
  
“Thanks, Flyboy.”  
  
Tony opened his eyes and smiled at Evan, who searched his gaze for a moment, then nodded and stood up, showed himself out.  
  
Tony closed his eyes again. What could possibly have possessed those kids to try that in broad daylight? He was still wondering as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "author's choice, any characters who aren't in a romantic relationship (yet), sharing an umbrella."
> 
> Post-Kill Ari, Tony needs beer, wants what Evan is cooking, and misses Kate.

“What are you doing?”  
  
Tony flinched and spun around, reaching for the weapon he wasn’t carrying.  
  
But it was just Evan. Evan, who’d hung out with him while he was still recovering from the plague. Evan, who’d cooked him dinners and watched movies with him and sneaked him out to the bar to watch football games and school college kids at movie trivia games. Evan, whose admin duties had picked up and whose absence had driven Tony back to work a week early.  
  
“I was going to the corner store to pick up some beers,” Tony said finally.  
  
Evan smiled. “Oh, hey, me too. I mean, the corner store, but not the beers. Want to walk together?”  
  
Tony eyed him. “What is this, middle school?”  
  
Evan rolled his eyes. “I’d hurt you, but you’re still infirm. How was it, going back early? Was your boss impressed? Did the others miss you?” He nudged Tony and smiled.  
  
Tony thought of how disappointed he’d felt, when Gibbs tossed the keys to McGee and told him to gas up the truck, how they operated like a smooth machine without him. He thought of the non-poisonous snake and Kate -   
  
And Kate.  
  
Tony swallowed hard, flashed Evan a grin. “They practically fell apart without me.”  
  
Evan threw his head back and laughed. “Of course they did. So, what’s the beer for? Special occasion? Close a big case? Stop a bad guy?”  
  
The beer was for Kate, for the beers they’d never shared, for the life she lived, so Tony could forget the wet, warm sensation of Kate’s blood on his face. He grinned again. “Stopped a bad guy. Pretty hardcore.”  
  
“How hardcore is hardcore? Or is it classified?” Whatever it was Evan did with the Air Force, it was super classified, and he respected the confidentiality Tony had to maintain for his work. Even though Evan was a few inches shorter than Tony, he kept pace with Tony well.  
  
“Mossad agent trying to infiltrate Al-Qaeda was actually a terrorist all himself,” Tony said.  
  
Evan whistled. “Wow, that is pretty hardcore.”  
  
“We stopped him,” Tony said. Gibbs had stopped him. That was only right, after what Ari had done to Kate.  
  
Kate.  
  
Tony brought up the most recent episode of the Simpsons, and they discussed it in detail till they reached the corner market. Ordinarily, Tony would have made a beeline for the beer cooler in the back and snagged a six-pack of his favorite brew, but this time he followed Evan as Evan roamed the aisles, a basket over one arm.  
  
“What are you making?” Tony peered at the contents of Evan’s basket. Tomatoes. Bacon. Avocados. Bread rolls. Romaine lettuce.  
  
“Mini ABLTs,” Evan said. “You want in? I can make double, easy. They’re pretty quick. I like to make the hollandaise from scratch, though, so that takes a hot second.”  
  
Tony gazed at Evan, widening his eyes. “Do I want in? Of course I want in.” He batted his eyelashes for good effect. “I hope you know that I sincerely believe that one day, you will make someone a very good wife.”  
  
Evan shoved him in the shoulder. “Just for that, I’m not putting out tonight.”  
  
Tony choked, and Evan cackled, made a beeline for the beer cooler. He picked the brew Tony liked - apparently Evan had been stationed at Peterson in Colorado and Coors was sort of required - and then he paid for everything, over Tony’s protests, and they headed back to Evan’s place (Cam’s place).  
  
Cam and Evan had been at flight school together. Cam had had a nasty plane crash - some kind of experimental crash malfunction during a meteor shower in Antarctica - and he was in Walter Reed undergoing PT, so Evan was house-sitting till he shipped out. Evan kept Cam’s house very clean and neat; Tony wasn’t sure if it was Evan being polite or if Evan was just scrupulously neat because he was a soldier.  
  
“So, what are we going to watch tonight?” Tony asked.  
  
Evan hummed thoughtfully. “I dunno. You choose.”  
  
Tony wasn’t sure he could handle watching anything where anyone died. Not tonight. Not -  
  
Cold raindrops landed on his head.

Evan swore and fumbled in his recyclable shopping bag - because of course he used recyclable shopping bags - and he unfurled an umbrella, tugged Tony under it.  
  
Tony remembered walking the crime scene in the rain, him and McGee both, trying to work out what the hell had happened after that psycho took potshots at Abby in the basement. Tony remembered the way Gibbs had called them _boys_ , asked if they were okay, called McGee by his first name.  
  
“Tony?”  
  
He blinked.  
  
“Tony?” Evan crowded close to him. It was raining hard now, dampness seeping up the cuffs of Tony’s jeans.  
  
Dampness had seeped into part of Evan’s jacket, too.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You kinda blanked out there for a second, buddy.” Evan’s tone was gentle. “Are you all right?”  
  
Tony blinked rapidly. “I - that Mossad terrorist. He - he killed Kate.”  
  
“Oh, Tony.” Evan crushed Tony close in a brief hug. “C’mon. Let’s get you home, and get you dry and warm, and we’ll eat, okay?”  
  
Tony nodded, and he stayed pressed close to Evan’s side all the way back to the house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "NCIS, Any, I'd date you so hard, then marry the shit out of you."
> 
> After Evan ships out to Tony doesn't know where, they trade emails and e-cards.

After Evan shipped back out to wherever he was shipping out, he and Tony kept in touch. Apparently Evan could only send one email a week, and he was vague about his posting, though he grumbled about the cranky scientists he worked with, and riding herd on a bunch of too-smart, overeager Marines (something that made Tony laugh, because Gibbs would be appalled at some of Evan’s comments about his leathernecks). Tony still wasn’t sure what to make of Ziva, and he didn’t much like talking about work outside of work, so Tony told Evan about the dates he went on, the pretty girls he talked to, and the TV shows he watched, the games he saw. Evan’s posting was very remote, wherever it was, so he had no new TV shows or movies and had very little information about how various sports seasons were going, so he was grateful for any updates Tony sent him. Whatever Evan was doing, he was second-in-command on base, and basically everyone was either in his chain of command or under his protection, so he was dating nobody, and Tony mocked him ruthlessly.  
  
Somewhere along the way, Tony started sending Evan inappropriate E-cards as a joke. For all that Evan was a pretty straight-laced guy, he was surrounded by Marines, and his humor had taken a dip toward the gutter as a result.  
  
In retaliation, Evan sent photographs of the ornate meals he made for himself and his ‘team’ (bafflingly, an Air Force tech sergeant and two Marine NCOs), describing in lurid detail all the work that had gone into preparing the meal and how delicious it tasted, and making unfairly accurate accusations about Tony’s take-out habit.  
  
Somehow, their emails devolved to just E-cards - apparently someone on base was bored enough to make E-cards of their own - and no matter how brief the rest of the message, getting an email from Evan made Tony smile. Evan was fun, Evan was a friend, he understood pressure and peril, but he was far, far removed from work, from Tony’s life. Evan was Tony’s getaway.  
  
So they traded emails, and Tony laughed.  
  
 _Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know when it’ll make you fat._ This shopped to a drawing of some homemade chocolates (life-size) Evan had produced (to placate the Marines).  
  
Tony responded with, _Mirror Mirror on the wall, who will be wearing a T-shirt in the pool._  
  
Apparently Evan was running discipline on base and explained that a bunch of Marines had gotten into a fight he’d had to break up - and a little physicist with a cafeteria tray had been his super secret weapon. _First rule of Fight Club is don’t talk to anyone who quotes Fight Club,_ he’d written, over a drawing of a tiny, angry Japanese woman swinging a tray.  
  
 _I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy waiting for him to hand over the food delivery bags._ This Tony sent after Evan sent photos of a particularly delicious meal.  
  
Evan’s snarky answer was, _I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse, because it includes bacon._  
  
They awarded each other points for correctly identifying the movies their e-card misquotes came from.  
  
Evan said, the next time he was on leave, he’d send Tony some home-made cookies, and Tony realized Evan had, indeed, been gone a year. Where the hell was the military posting people that they only got stateside leave once a year?  
  
But Tony sent him, _I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship with benefits._  
  
Then he got no email for two weeks, and then, surprisingly, a phone call.  
  
“Who is this?” Tony didn’t recognize the number.  
  
“This is your only friend, Tony DiNozzo.”  
  
Tony lit up. “Evan, hey! You’re stateside!”  
  
“Yeah. They only give us two weeks, so I’m out in Cali with my family. I’m surfing and picking up beach babes and thinking about you - and how you’d totally strike out.”  
  
“Whatever. You’d barely be my wingman, Wingnut. Only two weeks? That has to be a violation of some kind of labor law.” Tony ducked out of the office so Ziva and McGee couldn’t eavesdrop and make fun of him later.

“I told you - I get a designated Sunday once a week,” Evan said. “The government would never overwork and underpay its employees. Never. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m still alive.”  
  
“It’s good to hear your voice.” Tony smiled to himself.  
  
“Aw, I knew you missed me. Oh, hey, gotta go. Niece and nephew to entertain - hey, ow! Don’t punch Uncle Evan in the nuts.” And the call went dead.  
  
The next day, UPS brought Tony a box. When he opened it, he was baffled by the slices of bread.  
  
“The bread helps keep the cookies moist,” Gibbs said, glancing at Tony’s desk.  
  
Tony raised his eyebrows. “Boss?” But he pushed the slices of bread aside, and sure enough, there were warm, soft, gooey chocolate chip cookies.  
  
“My wife used to send me cookies when I was deployed,” Gibbs said. He raised his eyebrows at Tony. “You gonna share those?”  
  
“No,” was Tony’s first response, and then Ziva said, “Those must be from his sweetheart, yes?”  
  
When Abby came by, she widened her eyes and pouted and reminded Tony he’d failed to bring her a Caf-Pow the day before, so he gave her one of the cookies, and when all was said and done, he only had three to himself.  
  
But they were amazing.  
  
So he sent Evan an e-card, just because. _I’d date you so hard, then marry the shit out of you._ Because the cookies were that damn good.  
  
To which Evan replied, cheekily, _If you’re not asking, I’m not telling,_ and Tony realized what he’d sent.  
  
But he played it off as best as he could, because he was manly enough to exchange perfectly ironic flirty e-cards with his best friend.  
  
So he sent, _If I was your coworker, I’d sexually harass you._  
  
Evan sent back, _Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me and then I remember I put up with you._  
  
It wasn’t until Evan showed up at NCIS headquarters six months later, wearing khakis and a button down shirt and black leather jacket and a visitors’ pass and looking a little bewildered, that Tony realized he and Evan might have been having a long-distance relationship.  
  
“Who are you?” Ziva asked, with the same hostility Tony remembered having toward her when she first showed up and sat at Kate’s desk.  
  
“Major Evan Lorne, United States Air Force,” he said.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m here as a liaison officer,” Evan said.  
  
Ziva blinked.  
  
And then Evan grinned and said, “Just kidding. I’m being embedded with your team for training purposes.”  
  
“Training purposes?” Ziva echoed.  
  
Gibbs swept into the office, paused at his desk. “Lorne. Good. You’re here. It’s a good thing I owe Jack O’Neill one, or you’d be riding the pine for the next three months.”  
  
Lorne held up a cup of coffee from Gibbs’s favorite coffee place.   
  
Gibbs stared at it. “What’s in it?”  
  
“Coffee, sir.”  
  
Gibbs snatched the cup from him, sipped it, looked grudgingly approving. Evan winked at Tony. Ziva looked startled.  
  
 _Suck-up,_ Tony mouthed.  
  
Evan’s expression was perfectly innocent when Gibbs turned back to him.   
  
“Don’t ‘sir’ me,” Gibbs said. “But fine. I’ll let you ride along. This once. DiNozzo! Give the good Major your sketchbook. He can do drawings at the scene.” Gibbs tossed Tony the keys. “Gas up the truck, and let’s go.”  
  
Two hours later, Tony stared at Evan’s crime scene sketch, dismayed. “You drew your own e-cards, didn’t you?”  
  
“You bet I did.” Evan handed the sketch over to Gibbs, who looked surprised, and for a second startled, and Tony remembered Kate’s sketches, how good she’d been at drawing.  
  
“I guess sometimes the Chair Force makes them right,” Gibbs muttered, and Evan accepted the backhanded compliment gracefully. Then he said to Evan, “Go get me another coffee.”  
  
Evan handed him a massive steel thermos. “From your favorite coffee shop, boss.”  
  
Gibbs squinted at him. “Who the hell are you?”  
  
“Major Evan Lorne, Boss. United States Air Force.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Evan Lorne, 5 times he coolly saved the day and 1 time he couldn't."
> 
> Evan is with NCIS to learn to be an investigator after the expedition was kicked out of Atlantis. He brings his skills to bear as best as he can, but sometimes it's not enough.

1\. Evan knew he wasn’t a trained investigator, was a soldier first and a surveyor second, but he had run security on Atlantis, had done his fair share of Wraith tracking, and his unfair share of sleuthing, when baby Marines came crying to him because Corporal Blackburn stole Corporal Hendricks’s stash of definitely-not-dirty magazines. So he was pretty good at knowing when people were lying, when people were messing with him. What he wasn’t so good at was knowing what people were lying about, because everyone had their own agendas. What he was amazing at, though, was remembering what things looked like. Part of it was natural skill, part of it had been trained into him by his mother.  
  
The first time Gibbs let him lead an interrogation, he was terrified. So he listened closely, worded his questions carefully, and prayed he didn’t screw this up.  
  
The suspect was blonde, curvaceous, and had lush, thick eyelashes, a pouty red mouth. Everyone on the team, Ziva included, had looked at her twice.  
  
Evan refused to be moved by her looks, though, because he was pretty sure she’d murdered Petty Officer Jenkins.  
  
“So you happened across the body?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” she said, eyes wide, expression earnest. She even faked up a sniffle and some tears for good effect. “I was coming to return the laundry basket I’d borrowed and I pushed open the door and there he was, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. I could see the knife sticking out of his back, and I just - screamed.”  
  
Evan thought back to the crime scene photos Tony had taken, to his own sketches. “What happened after that?”  
  
“I tripped and fell over - over Mark’s shoes,” the suspect continued. “And I kept screaming, and finally one of the other neighbors came to help.”  
  
The victim’s shoes hadn’t been anywhere near the body. Evan had strongly suspected items had been moved around. All of the shoes had been on the shoe rack near the door. This woman had had enough time with the body to rearrange items in the house.  
  
“Thank you,” Evan said.  
  
The woman actually batted her eyelashes at him. “Can I go now, Agent Lorne?”  
  
“Let me check with the other agents, see if they have any questions.” Evan smiled politely and ducked out of the room.  
  
“Damn,” Tony said. “And she had the best motive.”  
  
“She did it,” Evan said.  
  
Gibbs raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“She said she tripped over the victim’s shoes,” Evan said. “The shoes were nowhere near the body. They were all on the shoe rack. If she tripped over his shoes, that means she had time with the body to rearrange the crime scene.”  
  
Gibbs smiled, a brief gleam of teeth, and said, “Arrest her, Major Lorne.”  
  
Evan nodded and stepped back into the interrogation room.  
  
2\. Evan was pretty sure Gibbs was punishing him, sending him into a strip joint with McGee to interview witnesses. McGee, who was by no means a blushing virgin, was also not Tony, and he looked very nervous when they showed up at the stage door where a giant who, naturally, answered to Tiny was standing guard. There was a reason Gibbs hadn’t sent Tony, because Tony would have been highly distractible in such an environment. Ziva might have set the dancers at ease. But no, Gibbs had sent Evan with McGee.  
  
“Whatchoo want?” Tiny demanded.  
  
McGee fumbled his badge. “Agent McGee, NCIS. This is Lorne, our - probationary agent. We need to speak to some of the dancers.”  
  
“No one gets past me without the boss’s say-so,” Tiny growled. “Boss doesn’t trust you boys with the dancers.”  
  
McGee emitted a tiny squeak.  
  
Gibbs wouldn’t be impressed with their inability to get past a surly bouncer.

Evan nudged McGee. “Let me take the lead. And just - go with me on this.”  
  
“On what?”  
  
Evan shouldered past McGee, cocked a hip, lifted his chin, smiled. “Sweetheart, we don’t mean the girls any harm. We just have to ask them a few questions, make sure they’re okay after the scary stuff they saw.”  
  
Tiny narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not some kind of poacher or some kind of perv with a badge?”  
  
Evan laughed, high and airy. “I am a perv, honey, just not the kind you think.” And he caught McGee by the tie, hauled him in, and kissed him.  
  
McGee emitted another squeak, but then he got with the program pretty fast.  
  
Tiny looked amused. “Your boyfriend doesn’t quite seem like he’s the same kinda perv.”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Evan said, patting McGee on the shoulder. “I like ‘em a little taller, a little harder, if you know what I mean.” He winked. “He’s got his own boyfriend. Thankfully, Jethro’s not the jealous type.”  
  
“All right,” Tiny said. “Keep your hands to yourselves, and we’ll be fine.” He unlocked the door and ushered them in.  
  
As they made a beeline for the dressing room, Evan said, “Not a word to Gibbs, I swear.”  
  
“What about Tony?”  
  
Tony already knew Evan kissed boys, thanks.  
  
The look on Tony’s face when Evan and McGee returned to the office with lipstick kisses on their face was priceless. But Evan had managed to sketch some suspects based on the dancers’ testimony, and if Gibbs looked disgruntled about their appearance, well, they had a good lead.  
  
3\. “Tell me,” Ziva said, “that you brought -”  
  
Gibbs swept out of the elevator, expression stone-faced, fury lining every motion.  
  
“Brought what?” Evan asked.  
  
“Coffee,” Ziva hissed.  
  
“Contrary to popular opinion,” Evan said, “I’m not actually the caffeine fairy.”  
  
Gibbs stormed around the corner to his desk, stared blankly at it for a moment.  
  
McGee and Tony ducked down into their cubicles, the cowards.  
  
Director Shepard came storming down the stairs, fury in her eyes. She saw Gibbs, and lightning flashed in her expression.  
  
Evan yanked open his desk drawer, grabbed his thermos of Gibbs’s special coffee, and poured a mug of it, thrust it into Gibbs’s hands with a quick murmur of _Boss?_  
  
Gibbs took a sip, and Evan and Ziva ducked back to their desks, and then Director Shepard reached Gibbs’s desk.  
  
“Jethro,” she snapped.  
  
“Ma’am,” Gibbs said, and he sounded calm, polite.  
  
Crisis averted.  
  
4\. “What did it say?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“I only saw half,” Ziva said. She was drawing furiously.  
  
“I saw the other half.” Evan snagged a pen and paper off of Abby’s desk and began sketching quickly as well. As soon as it was done, he turned, pushed his paper toward Ziva. They fitted them together. Their scales were off, but the image clearly formed a map.  
  
“Where is that?” McGee asked. He and Gibbs crowded close.

Ziva closed her eyes. Evan did the same.  
  
He opened his eyes. “Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”  
  
Gibbs was already heading for the door, keys out. “Let’s roll.”  
  
They found Tony before he suffocated, but it was a close thing. Evan went to haul Tony to his feet, tug him close, but they were on the job, he wasn’t allowed to -  
  
Gibbs yanked Tony out of the sarcophagus, checked him over, shook him.  
  
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, voice fierce, hands gentle. “You know the rules. Don’t screw over your partner.”  
  
“Partner?” Tony echoed dazily.  
  
“We’re your team,” Gibbs said.  
  
Evan’s heart thumped oddly.  
  
“I’ll ride with him to the hospital,” Ziva said. She and Evan helped Tony into the ambulance, and Ziva climbed into the back with him. The EMTs jostled Evan out of the way, and he watched the ambulance go.  
  
Gibbs thumped him on the shoulder. “Good job, Lorne.”  
  
“Thanks, Boss,” Evan said faintly.  
  
5\. Tony was taking photos, Ziva was sketching, McGee was taking measurements, Gibbs was speaking to the local LEOs, and Evan was keeping the two witnesses from talking to each other, standing between them. Something about this entire scenario felt - wrong. Like when he was walking an alien planet and the hair stood up on the back of his neck, like a Wraith was nearby. He’d done this dozens of time before, had his place on the team - and he missed his Marines fiercely, smiled whenever he saw the old Marine in Gibbs - but this wasn’t like every other crime scene. And Evan couldn’t figure out why.  
  
He figured it out two seconds before one of the witnesses tried to kill the other.  
  
He was feeling Ancient tech in the back of his mind.  
  
One of them reached into his pocket, turned to the other.  
  
Evan thought _Off! Off! Off!_ and dove at the man, tackled him to the ground. Ziva slammed into the other. Evan wrestled the man into submission.  
  
“McGee, frisk him!”  
  
What McGee pulled out of the suspect’s pocket was an Ancient grenade.  
  
Damn. The suspect was NID or something like it.  
  
“What the hell is this?” McGee asked.  
  
The suspect sneered, furrowed his brow, and it lit up again.  
  
Evan snatched it from McGee, threw pitched it as hard as he could, then threw himself at McGee, shielding McGee with his body.  
  
The explosion shook the ground. Evan’s head spun, ears ringing. He crawled back over to the suspect, who’d been unprepared for the explosion, and pinned him back down.  
  
After everything shook out, both the suspect and witness taken into custody, McGee actually pulled Evan into a hug.  
  
“You saved me,” McGee said softly. “Thank you.”  
  
“Welcome.” Evan patted his back, let McGee hang on a little longer than was probably socially acceptable, because the guy had almost been blown up.  
  
Over McGee’s shoulder, Tony flashed him a thumbs up.  
  
Evan smiled back at him, already mentally composing an email to General O’Neill. The NID was on the loose again.  
  
1\. Evan’s arm was going to burst, was going to break, was going to -  
  
“Hang on!” Tony shouted. “I’m almost there!”  
  
The suspect, whose wrist Evan was gripping with the last of his strength, grinned up at Evan, and dug his nails in.  
  
And Evan couldn’t help it - he let go.  
  
The man’s grin was stamped on the back of Evan’s eyelids every time he closed his eyes, and not even Tony’s kisses could make it go away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "NCIS, Gibbs, 5 rules he'll never break and 1 he will."
> 
> Jethro keeps his secrets about Tony and Evan and everything unravels from there.

_Rule Number Four: If you have a secret, the best thing is to keep it to yourself. The second-best is to tell one other person if you must. There is no third-best._  
  
Tony knew Evan from outside of work, that much was obvious. Jethro couldn’t figure out why Tony and Evan hadn’t told anyone about their knowing each other, since Evan was proving himself a sharp investigator, an efficient and useful team member. When Jack O’Neill had called Jethro and called in a favor after that thing during the Gulf War that they never quite mentioned because it never officially happened, Jethro asked Jack, very seriously, if this Chair Force major of his was going to be the worst third wheel ever. Jack had made grumbly noises and finally said, _The kid’s grown up. He’ll pull his weight._  
  
And Jack was right. Evan brought Jethro his favorite coffee, his crime scene sketches were miles better than Tony’s and even better than Kate’s, though Jethro would never say so aloud. That Jethro needed his coffee the way some people needed air, Evan could have learned from Jack. There were a hundred things about Jethro that Evan knew too quickly, too perfectly to have picked up on his own, that he could have picked up from Jack. But bringing a Caf-Pow for Abby, or holding his own against Ziva, or occasionally pranking McGee - Evan had to have learned that from Tony.  
  
Jethro watched Tony and Evan, and he could see where Evan had softened some of Tony’s rougher edges, his more impolitic side. Jethro thought he could see, too, where Tony had influenced Evan, his sarcasm and his quick humor, his quick uptake on a pun to be made.  
  
Jethro was pretty sure Ziva was aware of their friendship, but McGee, Abby, and Ducky were not.  
  
There was nothing wrong with that friendship, nothing suspicious at all. Until the first time Evan brought homemade chocolate chip cookies to the office. He had made enough that everyone got a generous share, including Director Shepard. Jethro bit into one of the soft, gooey cookies. Sweetness exploded across his tongue, and he knew.  
  
Evan had sent cookies to Tony before, with bread in the package to keep them from drying out. Tony had reflexively refused to share said cookies, and Ziva had joked that they were from Tony’s sweetheart, and Tony hadn’t denied it, hadn’t had a chance to, because then Abby had wheedled cookies out of him and he shared, grudgingly.  
  
Just like that, Jethro knew Tony’s secret. Evan and Tony told it, with shared glances, with the way one of them would start a movie quote and the other would finish it, the way they shared jokes.  
  
Jethro wanted to hate Evan, wanted to punish Tony, because there were rules, but Jethro had to obey his own rules, and he wouldn’t tell anyone his secret, ever, and he’d make sure Tony never figured it out.  
  
 _Rule Number Six: Never say you’re sorry. It’s a sign of weakness._  
  
“I’m sorry, Boss.” Evan stood before Jethro’s desk, hands clasped behind his back, posture textbook Air Force perfect.  
  
Jethro fixed him with a look. “What are you apologizing for, Lorne?”  
  
“For letting the suspect - get away.” Evan swallowed and lowered his gaze.  
  
“Not the suspect,” Jethro said, “the perpetrator. And you didn’t let him get away. It was suicide by cop.” Surely Lorne had taken a life in the line of duty before. Jethro didn’t know what Jack was up to these days, but he’d looked at Lorne’s service jacket, which, while heavily redacted, did indicate he’d been receiving combat pay and hazard pay wherever he was posted.  
  
“Do you need to talk to someone?” Jethro asked.  
  
Evan lifted his head. “No, Boss.” He’d talk to Tony, though. Jethro knew that. “It’s just - different. When they’re -” He cut himself off.  
  
When they’re what? Jethro wondered. American?  
  
“I’m sorry,” Evan said again. “I’m wasting your time. I’ll go. Get back to work.” But he paused by Tony’s desk on the way back to his own - to Kate’s - and Jethro thought a real apology would be the two of them not breaking Rule Twelve left and right and right under Jethro’s nose.  
  
A couple of hours later, Tony and Evan headed for the elevator, and Jethro heard Tony say to Evan, softly, “I’m sorry.”  
  
The elevator door slid closed, but Jethro was pretty sure he saw Tony reach for Evan’s hand.

Jethro was the one who was sorry. He was the one who had never thought, for one second, Tony could look twice at anyone other than a beautiful woman.  
  
 _Rule Number Seven: Always be specific when you lie._  
  
“What do you think of him?” Jenny asked. She and Jethro were standing on the walkway above the bullpen, looking down at Evan, where he was sitting at his desk, typing up a case report.  
  
“He’s a fine investigator,” Jethro said. “Got good instincts. With some experience, he’d be a great agent.”  
  
“Good enough that we should try to lure him away from the Air Force?” Jenny asked.  
  
Jethro took a deep breath. He was pretty sure, if Tony asked, that Evan would stay. Jethro wasn’t sure he could handle it if Evan stayed. “Yes,” he said, “but Major Lorne is very dedicated to his current project, whatever it may be. He came out here for training to take back to...wherever it is he came from. He’s been a fine agent, but he’s never really put down roots here, because he never intended to. We’ve done our best to convince him to stay, but he won’t. His heart belongs to the Air Force and the skies.”  
  
The elevator doors slid open, and uniformed Air Force officers wearing visitor badges stepped out. They made a beeline for Evan’s desk. Jethro expected Evan to be glad to see his old cohorts, but instead Evan was immediately wary. Whatever the major in front said to Evan, Evan looked shocked.  
  
One of the junior officers reached for Evan, and he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. But he stepped out from behind his desk, let the officers surround him. They started to herd him toward the elevator, but Evan resisted.  
  
“Boss!”  
  
Heads turned, because Jethro never tolerated that kind of hollering.  
  
“Guess my liaison is ending a little early,” Evan said, which wasn’t quite an apology, and maybe he’d learned some more of The Rules after all.  
  
Jethro opened his mouth to make a token (but perfectly sincere-sounding) protest, but Jenny’s cell phone rang. Her expression turned pinched, and she nodded.  
  
“Looks like the sky is reclaiming what’s theirs,” she said once the call ended.  
  
“I’m sorry to see you go, Lorne. You’d have made a fine agent,” Jethro said.  
  
Evan nodded, and he followed his fellow officers to the elevator. When the doors slid closed, the knot that had settled behind Jethro’s breastbone with the first bite of homemade chocolate chip cookie loosened.  
  
 _Rule Number Eight: Never take anything for granted._  
  
With Evan gone, Jethro’s access to caffeine was much more limited, and he hadn’t realized how much of the stuff Evan kept on hand just for him. Tony was his old self again, but more so, bigger and brighter and more exaggerated, like he was making up for lost time, and Ziva, who’d never been fully exposed to the experience that was Tony DiNozzo, was displeased. The two of them sniped at each other like angry siblings till Jethro was forced to separate them for the entirety of three cases, after which Tony calmed down and Ziva adjusted to who Tony was without Evan around.  
  
McGee went a little manic, enlisting Abby’s help to find out why Evan had been suddenly and rather forcefully recalled. Realization lit on Ziva’s face when Tony told her that Evan’s old posting, which the Air Force had abandoned rather precipitously due to political instability, had been re-established and Evan was being re-instated as base 2IC.  
  
“Does that mean all his training was a waste?” McGee asked.  
  
“I’m sure he’ll make good use of it,” Tony said, “riding herd on three companies of Marines.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Jethro murmured. Then he pressed the truck keys into Tony’s hand and said, “Let’s roll.”  
  
 _Rule Number Thirty-Six: If it feels like you’re being played, you probably are._  
  
Jethro knew that he couldn’t begrudge Ziva, McGee, Abby, and Ducky their missing of Evan, because none of them had been treating Rule Twelve like a doormat, he was still irritated at how excited all of them were whenever Tony forwarded them the emails he got from Evan, which mostly seemed to consist of bizarre digital greeting cards, photos of fancy meals Evan cooked, scans of drawings he’d done of each of them (including one of the team as the cast of Star Wars, with Tony as Luke, Ziva as Leia, Jethro as Han, McGee as C-3PO, and Evan as R2D2).

He’d even included a few photos of himself. It was strange, to see him in a uniform with tac gear, like he was a real soldier. He _was_ a real soldier. With Evan’s homemade cookies and easy smiles, it had been too easy to forget that.  
  
There were definitely emails Tony was holding back from the others. Jethro would catch him smiling fondly at his computer monitor, or looking thoughtful while he typed, or hurriedly minimizing a window when Jethro came by to see what progress he was making. Tony was playing a dangerous game, reading those emails at work.  
  
It was Abby who brought the concern to Jethro.  
  
“Tony forwarded this to me, I think on accident.” She slid a printed email across Jethro’s desk. It was from Evan to Tony.  
  
 _Hey You,  
  
I miss your face. Your stupid face. Your pretty face. Bet you miss my pretty everything, huh? Just kidding!_  
  
And beneath the message was one of those e-cards: _I’m glad you recognize how terrible your life would be without me._  
  
Tony had replied, _Mostly I just miss your kisses._  
  
Abby said, “It’s not that I have anything against Tony and Evan - actually, that’s kind of hot -”  
  
Jethro raised his eyebrows.  
  
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, Boss. It’s just that Evan’s still in the Air Force, and the military has its stupid rule, and I don’t want him to get into trouble because Tony can’t keep it in his inbox.”  
  
Jethro pushed the piece of paper back toward it. “I never saw this email,” he said quietly, “and neither did you, and neither will anyone but DiNozzo and Lorne. Am I clear?”  
  
Abby lit up. “Crystal!” She grabbed the email and then went to roust McGee from his desk, and Jethro knew they were going to do something drastic and not-quite-illegal to protect Tony’s inbox from prying eyes.  
  
But enough was enough. Jethro waited till Tony was back from interviewing witnesses and settled in at his desk to type up his report, and then he stood up, crossed the bullpen in complete and utter silence, and read over Tony’s shoulder.  
  
Tony was a loud guy, an indiscreet guy, but he wasn’t stupid, and for him to get caught like that was just bizarre.  
  
Tony paused in writing his report, opened up his email. He opened the email Abby had shown Jethro, only there was another reply in the chain from Evan that Abby hadn’t received.  
  
 _Yeah, maybe, but you want his kisses more._  
  
Tony typed, _Following your suggested course of action. Enlisted Abby’s help. We’ll see what happens._ And he sent the email off.  
  
Jethro recalled the timestamps he’d seen on the email chain and wondered where Evan was posted, that he could only email once a week.  
  
Tony resumed typing.   
  
Jethro watched him recount, in accurate, concise detail, each witness’s statement. After each statement he included thoughtful assessment of each witness’s credibility, usefulness at trial, and new avenues of inquiry worth pursuing.  
  
Five minutes into this observation, Jethro realized - Tony knew he was there. Quite possibly had known he was there all along.  
  
Tony had _wanted_ Jethro to read what he’d written, but he was leaving the ball in Jethro’s court, letting him choose how he wanted to react to the truth of Tony’s feelings.  
  
Jethro hated being played, but he’d be the first to admit, Tony had played him really well. Evan too.  
  
 _Rule Number Twelve: Never date a coworker._  
  
Tony followed Jethro home in his beloved car, parked out front, trotted up the front steps and knocked on the front door instead of following Jethro in through the garage, like he’d done a hundred times before, just a man making a brief call on his boss.  
  
Jethro invited him inside with a nod of his head like he’d done a hundred times before. But instead of leading Tony down to the basement where the boat was slowly coming together, they paused in the foyer, staring at each other.  
  
“Boss,” Tony breathed.  
  
Jethro shook his head. “Not here.”  
  
Tony blinked, wet his lips. He was _nervous_. The famous Tony DiNozzo, womanizer extraordinaire, was nervous.  
  
“Tony,” Jethro said softly. He leaned in.  
  
Tony closed his eyes and surrendered to that first kiss.  
  
A thousand more followed, and Jethro quietly scratched one rule off of his list, drew an asterisk next to another one.  
  
 _Rule Fifty-One: Sometimes you’re wrong._


End file.
